


Morning in America

by Setaflow



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically companions getting themselves into wacky situations with each other, But like let's be real...not really, Families of Choice, Freeform, Gen, Sometimes a family is five humans, Spoilers, This is more of a small collection of vignettes that have an overarching story, Unconventional Families, Will follow the main timeline of the games but loosely, a ghoul, a robot butler, a super mutant, and their dog, because goddamnit Todd if you won't finish half these arcs, four synths, then i will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setaflow/pseuds/Setaflow
Summary: Nora O'Hare looks at a broken neighborhood and sees an opportunity. Her friends look at a broken neighborhood and see a disaster waiting to happen.Guess this means they're all just going to have to find a way to live with each other.





	1. Welcome Home, Son

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm late to the party, but I just wanted to focus on a little pet project where I focus on certain character interactions so I can try to practice my writing a little and see where they lead. I'm also a huge sucker for found families/families of choice so I guess I can't really defend myself.
> 
> Several of these stories will be based on things that happened within my own playthrough of the game, and several of them will be based upon what I wished would've happened in my own playthrough of the game.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Damn, Piper’s legs were killing her.

A suggestion to go and see Nora’s home seemed like nothing at the time. She’d been through enough of downtown Boston; hell, she’d been through enough of the Commonwealth to have a good sense of how to protect herself. Piper supposed she’d never walked as much as she did because Diamond City really had all that she needed until it didn’t. Not to mention that she didn’t trust Nat enough not to burn Publick Occurrences down to the ground in her absence. And yeah, a small voice in the back of her head also reminded her that she was just the tiniest bit lazy.

When Nora asked Piper to accompany her to Sanctuary, it seemed like a good opportunity for Piper to stretch her legs. See something beyond the river, something that reminded her that there was more to life than just the broken buildings that made up the center of the Commonwealth. Had she known that said reminder would be two day’s journey away on foot, then Piper might’ve reconsidered her options.

Nora must’ve been struggling, too. They stopped often, usually on her request. If her story was to be believed, then she’d only been defrosted for two and half weeks, so in truth Piper couldn’t really blame her. Piper had no idea of what two hundred years of cryogenic preservation did to the human body, so in her opinion it was a miracle that Nora was still even going.

Honestly, when Piper first heard Nora’s story she’d written it off as nonsense. A vault dweller wasn’t completely uncommon in the Commonwealth, but they were a skittish bunch. She’d been denied access to Vault 81 at least once every six months, and those experiences had left a somewhat bitter taste in Piper’s mouth. Sometimes a dweller would come out to trade, but trying to pry information from them was like pulling teeth to her. Did they realize that most people knew about vaults? It wasn’t like they were some closely guarded secret anymore--hadn’t been for the last one hundred years, if she could say so.

But Nora was different. Cliched to say, Piper knew, but when she stumbled upon the doorstep to Diamond City she looked like a lost cat who’d gotten thrown out of her home. She had nothing but a small sack of salvaged goods, a collection of various raider leathers she’d looted off of the corpses of those who’d attacked her, and a 10mm pistol she clung onto so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her brown hair was tangled, her hazel eyes wide and haunted. Faint specks of dried blood dotted her checks like freckles.

Most kids in the Commonwealth grew up learning how to shoot a gun. Piper learned how to shoot before she was six, and downed her first Radstag less than a year after that. But this? This was a woman who had no idea where she was or what she was doing: a figure dropped straight out of some old sci-fi comic book Nat liked to read.

Passing her off as a trader was easy. Breaking down her walls for an interview was harder. Piper was quick to learn that Nora had a sharp wit under all that initial fear and paranoia, but dodged all the questions about her time at Vault 111 that Piper threw at her. Her words were clipped, usually sarcastic, definitely bitter and hurt. When Nora started talking about her son, however, something inside of her seemed to change. She instead spoke in a haunted tone that even Piper found unnerving. She spoke of conspiracies and murders and kidnappings, sounding more crazy with each word that poured from her mouth. 

She sounded so crazy that Piper knew there was no way she was even going to doubt her story.

During their interview, Nora mentioned she was twenty seven years old. That would make her exactly two hundred and thirty seven years old. She had to be the oldest human woman in the Commonwealth; hell, maybe even the entire world. What a marvel, and she didn’t even know it. At least appearance-wise, she wasn’t even that much older than Piper was. Would they have been friends if they knew each other as children? Who the fuck knows anymore. Childhood was a foreign concept in these parts.

Piper wasn’t sure if it was fascination or pity that caused her to extend Nora an invitation to stay in her home for her duration in Diamond City. Maybe both, because the last thing that she wanted to see was for the only truly innocent woman on this side of the river be murdered in her sleep. Nora didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. Within an hour she was passed out and snoring on a chair, and Nat threw an extra blanket on her and called it satisfactory. Nora slept for fourteen straight hours, only rousing when the sunlight from the open door hit her face when Piper was heading out for the day.

Nora only stayed for a few days, milling around Diamond City and gathering information about her missing family. Piper lingered at arm’s length, allowing her own curiosity to get the better of her as she watched her new friend become accustomed to her surroundings. She was closed and defensive still, but never unkind. She tried breaking up a fight between family members and offered to fetch paint for Abbot’s wall upkeeping (Piper tagged along and nearly got a stomach-full of lead for her troubles). She even gave Sheffield a Nuka Cola instead of chasing him away like everyone else did. If nothing else, Piper had to admire her resilience. Not many people would do the same in her situation. 

Maybe that was why Piper was really tagging along. She figured she could write an entire novel about Nora--about the woman who lived before the war and emerged the sole survivor of her vault. Where was the fun of missing out on all that?

Nora sighed, snapping Piper out of her thoughts. “ _ Fuck _ , my feet,” she groaned. She’d taken off her boot and was flexing her blistered toes. “Any further and my legs are going to break off.”

“Remember, Blue,” Piper said smartly, “you wanted to come back before you did anything else.”

“Don’t remind me,” rolling her eyes, Nora pointed off into the distance before replacing her boot. “It’s not much farther,” she said, “See that statue? It’s right across from that.”

“Finally,” Piper couldn’t resist making her own slight jab at her, cracking a smile, “I thought you were bringing me all the way down to the Capital Wasteland at this rate.”

That finally elicited a small smile from Nora, who only shook her head. A few minutes of walking later, the pair passed a disused Red Rocket, broken cars scattered around the perimeter and tires littering the ground around it. Shame, or maybe fortunate, that the place hadn’t been claimed by someone, because it wasn’t a half-bad site to hole up. Piper made a mental note to ever come back when she and Nat were finally shown the door to Diamond City for good.  _ Maybe Nora would like having neighbors again, _ she thought bitterly.

Down the road from that was a broad wooden bridge that spanned a large but shallow river. Nora crossed first, Piper following close behind. For one brief, paranoid minute, Piper wondered if it was worth it to take her pistol and conceal it in the folds of her jacket. “How long had you said you’d been gone again, Blue?” Piper asked warily.

“About ten days,” Nora responded, “Why?”   


“No reason,” Yeah, that was definitely long enough to have an entire settlement overrun with raiders, gunners, or worse. Piper quietly took out her 10mm pistol and tucked it into the folds of her coat. If Nora noticed, she didn’t mention it.

“Welcome,” Nora announced as she and Piper finished crossing the bridge, “to Sanctuary Hills.”

Sanctuary Hills wasn’t exactly the paradise that Piper was expecting. It was more intact than she was originally predicting, though considering the state of some of the houses scattered throughout the Commonwealth, she would hardly consider that a compliment. Buildings had caved in on themselves like wet newspaper, some still sitting as dead weight on their foundations. The ones that remained standing against all odds showed the same wear and tear that scarred the rest of the Commonwealth. Broken cars remained in their driveways, crushed under their garages. Fallen street lamps and broken mailboxes were scattered every few feet along the road, showering the settlement with broken glass and rusted iron. The settlement wasn’t overrun with hostiles, fortunately (Piper slipped her pistol back into it’s holster as quietly as she could manage), but it wasn’t necessarily a bustling hub of culture either. In fact, all that she could see were four people; three men were taking apart one of the ruined houses for scrap near the entrance, and a woman was tending to a small garden of mutfruit a little further off.

“It’s…” Piper was at a loss for words before finally settling on “...nice.”

Nora let out a sound that sounded halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “It’s a dump,” she said matter-of-factly. “But it’s my dump, warts and all. We always did like the peace and quiet anyway.”

Unsure of what to say, Piper just nodded. Nora nudged her. “C’mon,” her previous seriousness gone. She was putting on a brave face in front of Piper, save for the steeled look in her eyes, “I’ll take you to meet Preston.”

Preston, it turned out, was one of the men that was helping take apart the house, along with a well-muscled man in overalls and a weedier man in an undershirt and jeans. At Nora’s call, Preston turned, set down his work, and jogged over to meet them. Piper took him in quickly and silently, a skill she’d refined over the years. He was tall, reasonably handsome, and had an air of command about him that Piper found both intriguing and saddening. As he approached the pair, he grabbed a hat from the ground and replaced it back on his head.

“You’re back!” Preston greeted Nora warmly, “Marcy was convinced you were gone for good.”

Nora rolled her eyes, her smile momentarily faltering for a moment. “What can I say? I just can’t seem to stay away.” She glanced around, “Any trouble while I was gone?”

“A few ferals came over the bridge. Sturges and I took care of it,” the overall-wearing one--Sturges, Piper presumed--gave a brief wave upon hearing his name before turning back to the house. “How fared the hunt for Diamond City?”

“It went well. I’ll need to head back there in a day or two. Thought I’d come home and see how you all were holding up.”

Preston cast a glance over his shoulder, Piper following his gaze. Sturges and the other man had successfully freed a broken piece of wall from the pile of rubble and were carrying it away together. Off in the distance, the woman tending to the garden shouted something before returning her attention to her mutfruit. Preston’s voice was apologetic as he said “It’s going, slowly but surely, but it would be better if we had more hands to help out.” He returned his gaze to the pair of them, “Speaking of which?”

His voice was so hopeful that it almost pained Piper to have to say “Oh, no, I’m just coming in for a visit.” She held her hands up in surrender, then rushed to extend one, “Piper Wright. I just thought I’d check out this place. Nora hasn’t stopped talking about it since we’ve met.”

Nora smiled. Preston’s expression faltered slightly when he went to shake her hand. “Wright. I’ve heard of that name. You’re that girl with the newspaper in Diamond City, right? What is it, Publick Occurrences?”

“Guilty as charged. And to whom am I making out the autograph?”

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

That genuinely caught Piper off guard. “Wait, you’re seriously with the Minutemen? Well I’ll be damned! I’m honored to have such a famous fan.”

Minutemen, huh? Seemed like Blue had a knack for finding friends in high places. In truth, Piper didn’t think that there were even any Minutemen  _ left _ . They had all heard about what happened in Quincy, and Diamond City cut off caravan routes towards that section of the Commonwealth almost instantaneously, courtesy of Mayor McDonough. In her opinion, it always seemed too impersonal of a gesture to matter: the equivalent of tossing someone a sleeping bag after you destroy their house. Some people lamented the destruction of the Minutemen’s presence but most everyone else shrugged it off. Some were even relieved at it’s death, even in spite of how cruelly that fate seemed to come about. In truth, Piper was going to write about the Minutemen in her next issue of Publick Occurrences before Nora found her way to her doorstep.

For a heartbeat, Piper wondered if it was worth it to express her condolences, but she thought better of it. Preston seemed like the last person who would want to be pitied by someone he’d just met. Instead, she asked “Is this all there is of the Minutemen?”

A shadow passed over Preston’s face. “Erm...yeah, I suppose. There’s Sturges; he’s the best mechanic you could ever find in the Commonwealth. There’s Jun Long and his wife Marcy. And Mama Murphy’s sleeping back over there. I brought all of them up from Quincy, and Nora was nice enough to let us settle here and start rebuilding.”

Piper chanced a sideways glance back at Nora, who was staring out into space while the two of them were talking. She’d started to wander once she sensed that she wasn’t needed in the conversation anymore, her movements slow and almost wistful, in a sense. She looked like a ghost, almost: a phantom reminder of a time long gone. Piper left the conversation hanging as she watched Nora cross her arms, sit down on the broken concrete, and stare out over the river as the dying sun chased away the last of the daylight from the Commonwealth. And she just...sat, and watched. She propped her crossed arms on her knees and plucked at the grass that struggled to grow between the cracks in the street.

“Was she like that when she was staying with you?” Even Preston’s soft voice nearly caused Piper to jump out of her skin. Her concentration broken, she turned away from her friend. It suddenly felt like she was intruding on something private, and shame pricked at her stomach.

“Yeah,” she murmured. Piper considered adding more onto her simple answer, but she quickly realized that there was nothing left to say on her end. At least, nothing that would make anything better. Nora’s week at Diamond City was filled with a lot of staring off into the distance, a worrying amount of tears, and a significant amount of cursing. Seemed like a checklist that would do nothing but serve to make Preston anxious.

Preston nodded. He crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “We all met by chance,” he said. “The five of us were holed up in Concord when Nora came along. Got us out of a real jam before we all settled here.”   
  
“Sounds like a big debt to pay off,” Piper noted, pulling out a cigarette.

He gave a small snort that might’ve been halfway to a laugh. It seemed to brighten up his tired face for just the shortest of seconds, but in Piper’s eyes it did wonders. “More than you know. Between you and me, she’s already been to a few settlements west of here. Said the Minutemen are back. It’s not much,” he stopped, and Piper assumed that he was going to leave it there, but Preston shrugged a few moments later, “but it’s something.”

So the Minutemen are back, eh? What was their little catchphrase?  _ At a minute’s notice _ ? Suppose the moment something needed saving, the Minutemen would rise from the grave once again. “You’d be up for an interview, Garvey?” Piper asked as she took a thoughtful drag from her cigarette.

Preston smiled but shook his head. “Not a chance, Piper. We’re off the record, remember?” he said. “Come and find me in a few months and maybe I’ll change my mind.”

“That’s what they all say,” Piper grinned.

The pair fell back into silence, Piper’s eyes straying once more back over to Nora. She was hunched over her Pip-Boy, listening to something. By now, the bright green of the screen was the only source of light that Piper could see, casting a sickly glow over the space around her. It made her into even more of a ghost than she already was, harsh shadows dancing across her body as if a dark hand had latched it’s fingers around her. Something low was playing from the Pip-Boy; at first, Piper assumed Nora was playing the radio until she saw Nora swipe at her eyes and figured that no one had ever been reduced to tears by one of Travis’s playlists before.

As if echoing her observations, Preston laid a hand on Piper’s shoulder and gently turned her back towards the rest of Sanctuary. “Why don’t I show you around?” he offered. 

“Yeah, good plan,” Piper said automatically. She couldn’t help casting one last glance back to Nora before following Preston into the darkness. And even though he spoke sense to her, Piper’s mind felt far, far away from her body.

“Will she be alright?” Piper asked suddenly before she could stop herself.

Preston’s voice faltered halfway through his speech about defense turrets, and he stopped dead in his tracks with Piper halting right beside him. When he spoke up again, she was surprised at how unreadable his voice was. “We all have our demons to fight,” he said cryptically, “but Nora’s strong. Stronger than I first gave her credit for. She’ll get through it.”

“Did you hand out that advice to every scavver that was going to put a gun in their mouth in the face of slight adversity?” Piper asked dryly, kicking something she couldn’t see on the street. From the clank it made as it skipped off the curb, it was probably a tin can, “The world isn’t made for people like her. And let’s be real here, Garvey: maybe it’s not made for any of us.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as Preston’s sharp gaze raked her over. “Do you actually believe that, Piper?”

She paused, and thought, and then finally exhaled sharply through her nose. “No,” she said. “Suppose hanging out with someone who was actually before the Great War has just sort of thrown things into perspective, ya know?”

Preston hummed thoughtfully. “She said she would make it to Diamond City, and she did. That’s not exactly nothing. It says a lot when someone can follow their own merits,” he pointed out. “If what you said is true, then we’d have all been dead long before our paths all crossed.”

“You don’t strike me as a God-fearing man, Garvey.”

“I trust my hands, and I trust my friends,” Preston said firmly. Piper could hear the smile behind his words. “Why don’t you write that down for your article, Piper.”

Piper gave Preston a crooked smile despite knowing he couldn’t see it through the darkness. “Oh Preston,” she said, “I have a feeling this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful co-dependanceship.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” was his only response.

“Hey, are you two done over there!?”

Both Piper and Preston snapped back to attention at the sound of Nora’s voice. She marched past the both of them before either of them could get a word in edgewise. For a brief moment, Piper thought she was feeling better until she thought she saw her swipe at her eyes again. If she was still upset, however, Nora’s voice did little to betray it. “I’m tired and I would like to eat something before a mutated creature stalks us through the night!” she called over her shoulder with a recklessness that Piper damn wished she still had.

Exchanging a look, Preston hurried after her with Piper bringing up the rear, disappearing into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and please leave a kudos, bookmark, or review if you enjoyed!


	2. Fellow in the North

It was a hot day, hotter than normal. Heat meant reclusiveness, because even raiders weren’t dumb enough to hike through the wasteland when it was scorching out. It was this lack of intelligence that made MacCready wonder if he was smarter than or dumber than the average scavver. After all, he hadn’t seen heads or tails of just about anyone all day--then again, the sunburns on his face were more than enough for him to take his chances and hide under the nearest rock until night fell.

The mid-afternoon sun was warm on MacCready’s shoulders as he...well, wandered. Aimlessly. His new boss wasn’t necessarily the best with directions. He’d ditched the napkin that she’d used to write down the location of her place almost as soon as she crossed the river, certain he’d come across it sooner rather than later. “It’s right across a huge bridge. A bunch of broken-down houses all lined up in a row,” Nora had told him right after she’d bought him a drink down at The Third Rail, “You’d have to be blind to miss it, and based on the fact that you still have both of your eyes, I’ll assume that you’ll have no trouble.”

She had eyed his sniper rifle as she said those words, and at the thought MacCready unconsciously tugged the strap of the gun off where his burns hurt the worst.

Nora was certainly interesting. Bright. Somewhat charming. Funny in a strange “fish-out-of-water” sense. There was a bit of a lost look in her eyes, however. The kind of look that he usually found in people that were more or less just living their lives by the second. In an incredibly strange way that he couldn’t justify, Nora reminded him of Hancock, but MacCready could certainly think of less favorable comparisons. A strange man asks if you need his services? Sure, give him two hundred caps and send him off to a settlement until you needed him. That was such a Hancock move that MacCready was surprised she wasn’t paying him in grape mentats rather than a sack of caps.

  
Those caps sat like a stone at the bottom of MacCready’s pack and weighed just as heavily in the back of his mind. Despite his insistence that she was lucky to have as good a shot as him, he still felt like he’d strangely taken advantage of her. Like he’d extorted Nora down at that bar for more than just a couple of caps and a gun at her back. But MacCready’d be darned if he couldn’t use the money.

It had been a while since he’d been taken on as a gun, maybe a month or more, so he was perfectly fine to head up and take in the scenery north of Boston. Besides, the Gunners hardly took jobs this far up through the wasteland anyway. Too much effort for too little payoff was what he was always told, and that meant he was guaranteed to get Winlock and Barnes off of his butt for the time being.

The sunlight scored the shadows of the dead trees through the dirt as MacCready rounded the corner by an old Red Rocket. Alright, that was good. Nora mentioned that her settlement was just off down the road from one of these bad boys. He was about to break into a run, praying that he wasn’t much further, before he passed the open garage and nearly fell on his behind turning around.

Inside the garage was a rusty and disused but still intact set of power armor that was just sitting there, ripe for the using. MacCready felt his jaw go slack as, his primary mission briefly forgotten, he headed into the Red Rocket and made a beeline right for the armor.

Did Nora know that this was just sitting here where anyone could use it? Why wasn’t she using it? MacCready’s question was soon answered as he examined the back and discovered that he was fresh out of luck. The fusion core was gone, leaving the armor as dead as the world it sat upon. MacCready scanned the room; a fusion core was sitting on the workbench a few feet away. When he picked it up, he could feel that it was completely drained of power. He pocketed it anyway. Force of habit, he supposed.

In truth, upon further examination, the power armor itself wasn’t really anything to get excited for. It was much older and far more rusty than MacCready had originally figured, and when he tried to move one of the arms it creaked and groaned and resisted his touch. The right arm and left leg had fallen off entirely, and the glass in the left eye of the helmet had been shot out. It wasn’t even that good of a set of power armor--pre-war, T-45, hardly anything to write home about.

For a moment or so, MacCready felt a slight sense of shame tug in his stomach. He couldn’t help himself, really. He hadn’t seen a set of power armor this close since his days in the Capital Wasteland. When he ran his hands over the metal chest piece, he was suddenly back in Little Lamplight, begging the vault dweller from Vault 101 to let him do the same thing he was doing now.

“Geez,” MacCready breathed out, wondering if his words were a sign that he was impressed at the sight before him or if they in an effort to chastise himself. He wasn’t even sure why he would bother trying that second reason: no one was around to see him get giddy and he was sure that his attempt were going to fall on his own deaf ears anyway.

And so, with some reluctance, MacCready backed out of the garage and continued on. He occasionally casted a glance back at the set of power armor like he hoped it would get off of it’s stand and start following him down the road.

As the Red Rocket disappeared from his line of sight, the aforementioned bridge appeared before him. MacCready walked cautiously across it, half-expecting to be shot at, but nothing ever came of it. The river below his feet flowed calmly, barely making a sound as he wandered across the water.

He stopped just as he set his feet back on solid land, taking in the view. A sign was his only greeting--”Welcome to Sanctuary Hills” was spelled out in faded paint and obscured by vines. MacCready could see a few people here and there. One person was carrying mutfruit down the street. Two more were building a shoddy turret on top of one of the ruined houses. Yet another was pumping water from a well a little further down the road. No one paid him any mind, so MacCready ventured onwards into Sanctuary.

As he followed the natural path the road made through Sanctuary, MacCready felt one or two pairs of eyes fall on his back. He turned back, catching sight of the woman with the mutfruit staring at him. He jerked his hand up in an attempt to wave, trying to appear friendly and not creepy, but the woman’s scowl just furthered.

He was so distracted by his surroundings that MacCready missed the seventy-five pounds of fur and muscle barreling towards him until it was too late.

A bark was MacCready’s only warning to what was about to transpire. Unfortunately, it only gave him a perfect view of the mongrel as it took a running start and leapt straight into his chest. MacCready let out a shout as his feet were swept from under him, falling flat on his back. He saw stars as his head bounced off the road, and his hat flew off and disappeared into the wind.

He had just enough time and quick enough reflexes to brace his hands against the mongrel’s throat before the thing ripped into his face. Hot breath fogged up his senses as the the thing snapped and snarled barely inches from his nose. MacCready tried to heave upwards to throw the mongrel off of him, but the animal had planted itself firmly across his scrawny body; no matter how hard he squirmed and thrashed, he couldn’t throw it off long enough to grab his gun and shoot it where it stood.

“Get. This. Thing. _Off_. Me,” MacCready snarled between his struggles, turning his face to avoid the saliva spilling from the mongrel’s mouth.

There were at least a few seconds where MacCready was sure he was a goner. He’d always wondered if there was an afterlife. Now, he sure hoped there was, because one of the things he was definitely going to do was give Nora hell when she finally kicked the bucket for not having the forethought to rid her settlement of mongrels.

But halfway through that exact thought, he felt the mass over his body shift. The mongrel yipped in protest, and MacCready could just barely manage to hear a voice over the both of them, “No, Dogmeat! Off, boy! Off the man!”  

There was the sound of something hitting something, and suddenly the weight pinning him down vanished. MacCready wasted no time. Scrambling away on all fours like a frenzied mirelurk, he came up somewhere on his knees a few feet away. Amidst the dizzying pain in his head, he grabbed the rifle off of his shoulder, cocked it, and brought it to his cheek.

His savior, as it turned out, was a very decrepit-looking Mr. Handy. Well, in truth, that wasn’t completely fair. It was a lot better-looking than a decent amount of General Atomic robots that MacCready had seen throughout his years. At least it still had the correct number of arms and eyes and wasn’t wasting it’s time with pre-war propaganda. It was keeping the mongrel at bay by lightly checking it’s body with the flat side of it’s circular saw. MacCready’s eyes darted down to the animal in question. It in fact wasn’t a mongrel, but to his amazement an actual dog. Big, brown and black, stocky, and very angry. The dog--Dogmeat, he supposed (God, even for an animal that’s a dumb name)--had its’ ears flattened down to the skull and was growling, but the Mr. Handy was doing a good job of keeping the thing from leaping at MacCready’s throat again.

MacCready’s attention went back and forth between the robot and the mutt, unsure of which to aim at first. In the silence that followed, the Mr. Handy spoke up, “Are you alright, sir?”

MacCready didn’t bother answering. His finger tightened around the trigger, deciding that he might as well take care of the more aggressive threat. His mind made up, he lowered the barrel of the gun down towards Dogmeat. The dog gave a threatening bark, as if goading MacCready into attempting the shot.

“I am terribly sorry for the ghastly behavior of Dogmeat here,” the Mr. Handy continued, unperturbed by the gun MacCready had, “He’s normally a very good boy, and I’m afraid I’m not quite the master of dog training as Miss. O’Hare believes I am.”

That was enough of a surprise that MacCready’s gun dipped a bit in his hands. “Wait, you’re _Nora’s_ Mr. Handy?”

“Ah, so you’ve made Miss. Nora’s acquaintance?” the Mr. Handy asked excitedly.

Before MacCready could answer, Dogmeat growled again, distracting him. “Do you have a way of calling off that mutt?” MacCready asked sharply.

The robot hummed thoughtfully before answering, “Have you something of Miss. Nora’s on your person? He might recognize her scent.”

Worth a try, he supposed. MacCready, never once breaking his eye contact with his welcoming party, slung his pack off of his shoulders and dug around blindly until he pulled out the bag of caps that Nora had paid him. He untied the bag and tossed it towards Dogmeat.

The Mr. Handy backed up and allowed Dogmeat to approach the bag and sniff it. After a few tense moments that for MacCready dragged over a lifetime, the dog wagged it’s tail and barked excitedly. Before he was even aware of what was happening, the dog approached him once more and thrust it’s cold nose into MacCready’s face, tail flailing happily. MacCready once again found himself fending off Dogmeat as the mutt rubbed it’s snout all over his cheeks, nose, and mouth. Frankly, he was just amazed at how quickly the animal backed off when he presented it with the right thing. “Down, Dogmeat,” MacCready ordered between sniffs.

A curious yet forceful shove from the dog was enough to unbalance him, once more sending him on his behind, and MacCready had no choice but to close his eyes and accept his fate as Dogmeat began to lick his face.

Thank God, the Mr. Handy came to his aid much faster this time. He batted Dogmeat off of MacCready with the side of his saw again, and Dogmeat loyally backed away from him as it went “Shoo! Shoo, Dogmeat!”

Aching and confused, MacCready shakily got to his feet. Dogmeat sat a few feet away, looking incredibly placid despite wanting to kill him barely five minutes ago. Likewise, Nora’s Mr. Handy held out MacCready’s misplaced hat in it’s free appendage, which he took and replaced on his head. “Once again, I am dreadfully sorry, sir,” the Mr. Handy said as MacCready smoothed his hair down, “I do hope you are alright.”

Well, he was going to have a lump on his head the size of a mirelurk egg for the next several days, but he would take that over being dog chow any day. “I’ll be fine,” he said nonchalantly, waving his hand in a disconcerting manner. “You have a name, boltbucket?”

“Ah, where are my manners? My name is Codsworth, the proud Mr. Handy of the O’Hare family for the last two hundred years. What brings you to our fine locale?” the Mr. Handy said.

_Excuse me?_

MacCready held a hand up. “Wait, wait, wait a minute. I’m sorry, but did you say two hundred years?”

“Well, precisely two hundred and ten years, but who’s counting?” Codsworth answered chipperly.

“But that would make Nora at least two hundred and ten years old.”

“Exactly two hundred thirty-seven years, eleven months, and nineteen days!” Codsworth affirmed.

Huh.

MacCready let that sink in for a moment. “Two hundred years, eh?” he finally said blankly. Dogmeat cocked his head expectantly.

Codsworth moved his free appendage in what appeared to be some sort of salute. His mechanical voice was filled with pride as he said “Yes sir!”

Two hundred years.

MacCready let out a laugh. He couldn’t help it, really. Two hundred years? Two hundred years? He’d heard a lot of strange things throughout his life, but this was just too deep in the uncanny valley for him to commit to.

“Two hundred years, eh?” MacCready echoed once he’d finished his bout of laughter. “So Nora, little Nora who didn’t look like she’d ever held a gun before coming to Goodneighbor, was a pre-war creation?” Actually, when he said it out loud, that would make a lot more sense than he would dare admit to. Oh well, it was his joke and he was rolling with it, “You got any proof, Codsworth?”

The Mr. Handy gave an excited spin. “Why, yes, actually!”

That shut MacCready up again. Before he could ask to clarify, Codsworth turned, told Dogmeat to stay, and disappeared inside one of the ruined houses. He reappeared a few moments later, holding a picture frame in his free appendage. “I’ve been wanting to show this off for years!” the robot was exuberant as MacCready took the frame from him. “No one wanted to see it!”

MacCready held the frame up to his nose. The photo itself was faded and colorless, so he figured that Codsworth wasn’t just lying right to his face. The wooden frame was splintered and nearly fell apart in his hands, the glass gone entirely. Still, the photo was well maintained despite its apparent age. If he had to take a guess, MacCready figured it might’ve been kept in a lockbox for safekeeping for last two centuries. Touching, in a weird, compulsive hoarder kind of way. The photo was of a man and a woman, the man in a nice three-piece suit that must’ve just been made for how good it looked, with broad shoulders, a freshly shaven face, and a thick head of smoothed down hair. The woman in the photo wore a gorgeous white dress and was holding a bouquet of pale pink and red flowers that MacCready had never seen before. Her hair was longer and her face was happier, but that was definitely Nora. Little Nora who had never held a gun before.

Curious, MacCready removed the photo from the frame (he heard Codsworth let out a strained noise in protest) and flipped it over. And there it was, right on the back: “ _Lt, Nathan O’Hare and Eleanor Passarini, June 15, 2074”_

Unaware that Codsworth had crept closer to him, MacCready nearly had a heart attack as the robot piped up again, “I've kept that since before the Great War. it was on the shelf above their bed when…” he trailed off. Dogmeat whimpered.

So his employer was pre-war, without being a ghoul or some other freak of nature. A true, genuine pre-war human.

“She still, erm, looks decent...you know, for being two hundred and twenty years old and all,” MacCready blurted out.

For once, Codsworth said nothing. Flustered, MacCready put the photo back in it’s frame and passed it back to the Mr. Handy. “I’m a little tired, I guess,” he fumbled over his words like a drunk feral, “Nora said I could stay here, and she said there were extra beds and that all I had to do was to pitch in a little until she got back, so…”

Codsworth’s eyes expanded. “Splendid! And I apologize for my forwardness, but you are?”

“Oh! Uh, MacCready. Err, R.J. MacCready. Robert Joseph MacCready. But everyone just calls me, um, MacCready,” to add the perfect finish to his already botched series of sentences, MacCready rushed to extend his hand as if he expected the Mr. Handy to understand the concept of a handshake.

Maybe he was just humoring him, but Codsworth raised his appendage with the flamethrower anyway. Even if it was just to save him some face, MacCready was more than happy to settle for that. “Wonderful!” Codsworth appeared to bounce a little, the jet keeping him aloft bobbing up and down for a few seconds. “But first, a celebration! To new friends! Would you like a drink, Mr. MacCready?”

“Oh God, yes,” MacCready had never been more relieved at the notion of drinking with a robot. Obediently, he trailed after Codsworth, Dogmeat trotting at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dogmeat: *barks*  
> MacCready: AHHHHHHH GET YOUR FUCKIN DOG BITC-  
> Codsworth: It don’t bite  
> MacCready: YES IT DO GET YOUR-


	3. What Maketh the Man?

Whenever Codsworth found himself alone, he would hum to himself. It was something he’d taught himself after talking endlessly to no one gradually wore on his well-being. It seemed to him that even the mere act of creating sound was enough to keep him busy as he tidied things around Sanctuary Hills for the last two centuries.

He had several tricks like that up his sleeves. About sixty years after the Great War, Codsworth began rearranging the homes around the neighborhood, meticulously putting the furniture upright and clearing out any rubbish that he’d found. About eighty-three years after the Great War, he was tired of seeing rabid animals make their homes in the deserted houses along the road and set about on his own crusade to get rid of the pests. About one hundred and forty years after the Great War, Codsworth started venturing further and further away from Sanctuary Hills, hunting for something that he wasn’t sure he was ever going to find. He hadn’t made any new friends (those who he usually encountered in Boston were more likely to take potshots at him rather than try and make conversation), but he  _ had  _ found some useful bits and pieces here and there. He once even found a mutfruit. Codsworth was quick to learn, however, that he wasn’t necessarily built to be a great farmer.

He supposed the humming started about ten years ago as he rearranged the O’Hare’s things for the thirty-fourth time. That go-around, he’d organized the bedroom so the wedding photo sat on Nora’s nightstand and so that the broken alarm clock was on Nate’s side of the bed. As he shook dust off of Nate’s tattered army fatigues, he must’ve started humming a tune he’d heard a long time ago. A lullaby for Shaun, perhaps? Or maybe a song that Nate and Nora took a particular shine to whenever it played on the radio. Codsworth wasn’t entirely positive how long his memory processors were meant to last.

But there was one thing that Codsworth always remembered: the one thing that never quite allowed him to leave. Every single morning, he would make his way up to the giant hatch on the top of the hill to see if it had opened. He had hoped that one day, the vault would open and his family would come out, unhurt and unharmed. As the years dragged on, his hopes began to fade. He was meant to last, but humans couldn’t possibly possess the same resilience.

A bunch of unnatural characters had taken the place of the O’Hares during that two hundred year period. A gang of super mutants were the first, setting up fires around every corner and eating whatever raw meat they had on their backs. Various raider gangs had come through over the years but would always leave before too long, complaining about finding a more defensible area. Even a Deathclaw had made its home in, if Codsworth could recall correctly, what was formerly the Sumner’s old home. Codsworth thought he could remember a hunter driving it off. It took him five weeks to clear out the Deathclaw droppings and remake the kitchen back to its original perfection. None of those groups so much as batted an eye in Codsworth’s direction in spite of his repeated attempts to be friendly.

But the group that Nora had brought with her seemed keen on staying. They were small, but they were growing. Now, there were ten permanent residents! There was himself, Nora, Ms. Murphy, the Longs, Mr. MacCready, Mr. Garvey, a young fellow named Dale, an older ghoul named Penny, and Sturges.

Sturges was a boon to Codsworth in particular, he reflected as the mechanic took a rag to his body. Ignoring his insistence that he was fine, Sturges was firm in his desire to give Codsworth a quick once-over to make sure all of his pieces were still in operation. “Stay put, Codsworth,” he said for the thirteenth time, and Codsworth attempted to still his arms once more.

“How fares the inspection, Mr. Sturges?” Codsworth asked.

Sturges didn’t respond at first, but he stood up and rubbed the sweat off of his brow with a smile. “You seem to be in good working order,” he concluded, “but rather safe than sorry.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Codsworth said.

Humming thoughtfully, Sturges walked in a small circle around him. “You know, Codsworth, in all my years of living, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Mr. Handy in as good a shape as you,” he said. “Most General Atomics products are a little lacking in the eyes or arms...come to think of it, usually both.” He let out a chuckle and finally finished circling him. “Well, I can’t say that anything needs immediate attention, but your flamethrower is a little chewed on.”

Ah, that was one hundred and ninety-two years after the Great War. That was the year that mole rats decided to burrow under the Able’s house and Codsworth had to become Sanctuary’s resident exterminator once more. “A mole rat attack, I’m afraid. That batch was surprisingly more flame-resistant then I had originally given them credit for.”

“If I had a cap for every time I heard that,” Sturges sympatized. “Well, if you happen to find a new and better arm--maybe one that won’t leak flamer fuel--then bring it back and I’ll reattach it for you.”

“I will let Mum know, Mr. Sturges.”

“Alright, Codsworth, you’re free to go.”

At that, Sturges set his things down on the workbench and took off with a wave of his hand. Codsworth returned it merrily. The mechanic had been kind enough to wipe down his optical receptors, and he wandered onto the road and into the sunlight with a literal fresh perspective.

It was a perfect day, warm and pleasant. The sky was a bright blue and soft clouds hung low in the sky. For a few days previously, Sanctuary Hills had been plagued with radstorm after radstorm, effectively putting all progress on building at a grinding halt. Codsworth stayed inside with Ms. Murphy, listening to her ramble on about one story or another from when she was a younger woman. He occasionally spoke of Nora to Mr. Garvey, expressing his general concern for her wellbeing. Mr. Garvey would laugh, staring out into the thunderstorms brewing on the horizon. “Don’t worry, Codsworth,” Mr. Garvey said. “If anyone can handle themselves, it’s General O’Hare.”

Codsworth hummed to himself softly, drifting along the roads. He caught sight of Mr. Garvey, Mr. Dale, and Ms. Penny putting the finishing touches on a new shelter composed of broken pieces of the Smith’s house. He wasn’t necessarily fond of seeing all these buildings being dismantled, but he supposed he could live with it so long as they were being put to good use. Sanctuary Hills would be overcrowded before too long should this pace be maintained--Codsworth assumed that sacrificing some of the more ruined homes was for the greater good. Still, he wouldn’t lie; it hurt to see them go.

“Codsworth!”

The sound of a familiar voice calling his name broke his train of thought.

Nora was jogging over the bridge, waving to him. Codsworth picked up his pace to meet her. Even to this day, he was astonished at how...different she appeared. She’d shed the jumpsuit and leathers she wore in favor of a threadbare olive-green coat, an old flannel shirt, and a pair of jeans. The only thing she saved were the boots that she’d emerged from the Vault in, but it seemed that they were being worn down from constant traveling back and forth from Diamond City.

When she returned home with Ms. Wright a few weeks ago, Codsworth had offered her her pick from a collection of pre-war clothing he’d manage to salvage over the years. Some were for Mr. O’Hare, but he’d found two pairs of shorts, a blue summer shirt, and a lovely rose-colored dress in her size. They were cleaned to the best of his ability--dunked several times in the river and scrubbed with as much Abraxo as he could find, but when Codsworth presented her with his findings, she just gave him a sad look and politely declined. “Thanks, Codsworth,” her voice quivered through the small smile she was pulling, “but why don’t we save these clothes for someone who really needs them?”

Codsworth didn’t argue with her. He put them back into the closet, just like she told him to. Just like old times. Maybe she just wasn’t ready, or maybe she didn’t want to get them dirty. Still, he supposed it was best to hold onto them for safekeeping. Maybe someday she’d be ready for them again.

But today, apparently, was not that day. Codsworth couldn’t fathom how she was wearing all those closes under the baking hot sun, but he didn’t question it. Her brown hair was still short--a shame, really, because Codsworth always liked her long hair. And despite her face being generally spared from the hardships of two hundred years of wasteland living, the crooked scar that ran through her eyebrow would always be a sign to him that she wasn’t the same person he’d said goodbye to all those years ago.

They met each other right in front of the sign. Nora did her general greeting; since she couldn’t hug him, she placed her hand on the front of Codsworth’s metal body. She’d done that even before the bombs fell, much to her husband’s amusement. Well, Codsworth was just glad that some things didn’t change. “Hello Mum!” he said happily, “It’s so wonderful to see you return home safe and sound!”

“Same here, Codsworth,” she smiled broadly, adjusting the straps on her pack. “How have things been going around here?”

“Mr. Dale and Ms. Penny have been settling in fine. They seem to be finishing up that shelter they were working on over yonder.”

She exhaled. “That’s a relief. How’s Preston been?”

“Nothing new to report on his end. We haven’t seen heads or tails of any monsters or roughnecks,” he started to turn back down the road, “Shall I fetch him for you?”

Nora caught one of his arms, her face suddenly alight with surprise. “Actually, Codsworth,” she said, her voice high-pitched, “why don’t we go down the road for a while? I, um, sort of need your help with something.”

Obediently, Codsworth followed after her as she pivoted and led him back over the bridge. He floated silently next to her as her boots drummed on the rotting wood. They passed over the water and returned to solid ground, heading for the Red Rocket truck stop a little ways away. 

“Is everything all right, Mum?” Codsworth asked.   


She pulled a face in response. “Yes,” her tone was far more secretive than it was before, “but I’d just rather not worry Preston about what I’m about to show you.”

“And what would that be?”

They rounded the corner to the Red Rocket as he asked. “You’ll see,” she deadpanned. Codsworth followed her and was greeted with a curious sight.

The first thing he saw was a man standing against the guardrail in front of the station. He wore a patchy trench coat and fedora over his tattered white shirt and black tie (kindred spirits, it seemed). A cigarette dangled from his lips. When he caught sight of the two of them he pushed himself off of the guardrail and started to make his way over to Nora and Codsworth. That was when he noticed the peculiarities of this man. His eyes were not a natural brown or blue but a piercing yellow that glowed under the brim of his hat. His skin was sallow, almost appearing akin to old leather, and half of it was ripped away from the face and neck. Codsworth was could see that where flesh should have been between the cheek and ear, there was nothing but a skull made of metal that poked all the way from under his hat. The throat was the same way--only a small strip of skin remained to cover the man’s Adam’s Apple and nothing else. Nora, to Codsworth’s shock, did not recoil or act as if she was surprised at the sight of him. Instead, she moved to greet this strange man. “Anything happen?” she asked in undertone.

“Not yet,” the strange man said, seemingly amused. His yellow eyes fell on Codsworth. “This is your friend?”

Nora shrugged. “I mean, yes, but not the one I was talking about,” she extended a hand to the mysterious stranger. “Nick, this is Codsworth. Codsworth, this is Nick Valentine. He’s a detective from Diamond City.”

Codsworth extended his appendage and Mr. Valentine raised a hand to shake it. The skin on the detective’s right hand had been ripped away entirely, leaving a thin skeleton of wiring and metal in its place. “A pleasure, Mr. Valentine,” Codsworth said.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Nick returned the greeting with a small smile. He eyed Nora, “Where’s Garvey? He not coming?”

Nora shrugged, her face showing impatience. “Couldn’t find him, but it doesn’t matter. Codsworth has been hanging around Sanctuary Hills for two hundred years. I trust his judgment.”

Could Codsworth beam at the praise, he certainly would have. Mr. Valentine tisked but didn’t protest. He turned around, beckoning the pair with a wave of his arm, so Nora and Codsworth both fell back into line as Mr. Valentine led them around the front of the Red Rocket.

“He’s been tinkering on that workshop table since you’ve been gone,” Mr. Valentine told them. “It’s kind of funny, in all honesty. I don’t think the big guy even knows what he’s doing.”

Nora’s face was serious. The only time Codsworth had seen her looking this severe was when her great-aunt refused to leave their housewarming party following her celebratory vodka martinis--seven of them. “He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?” she asked.

Mr. Valentine snorted. “Nah. He seems pretty absorbed for the moment. I wonder if he even knows where he is right now.”

Codsworth was spared from having to ask who this man was as the trio rounded the corner of the building. Not sure what to be expecting, Codsworth was certainly met with a rather unusual scene. A large, green man was slouched over a spare work table against the wall, picking up cracked glass beakers and setting them down again. A sledgehammer and a pipe rifle leaned up against the wall, red with rust and dried blood. Undeterred by his size, the super mutant grunted in concentration and clinked two beakers together. All in all, it strongly reminded Codsworth of the times that the O’Hare family would set down some toys and allow young Shaun to play at his leisure. Shaun loved the building blocks the most; Nate and Nora would always be so encouraging when he picked up two blocks and bash them together, in spite of Codsworth’s concerns that he should be using them to practice the alphabet rather than banging them all around.

“Codsworth,” he heard Nora say, “this is Strong. He’s a....” she trailed off, unsure of what else to say. 

Mr. Valentine turned back to Nora. She, in turn, had pursed her lips together in concentration and placed her hands on her hips, “Well, what do we do with him now?”

“We have to explain to the others that he’s just going to have to stay,” Nora said simply.

Mr. Valentine was incredulous, staring at her in disbelief. His cigarette reduced to a bud, he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out. “Kid, you can’t actually be serious about this.”

“If I may?” Codsworth interjected. Two pairs of eyes fell on him: one yellow, one hazel. “Mum, what has happened in your adventures to find the company of a super mutant?”

Nora laughed at his question. Mr. Valentine shook his head. In the end, Nora answered. “Well, we found this strange radio transmission coming from Trinity Tower while we were out scouting around downtown. As it turns out, one thing leads to another and when we get out, this big guy--” she jerked a finger towards “Strong”, who was now examining a broken bunsen burner, “--decided to follow us all the way home.”

“Some loon thought he could educate super mutants,” Mr. Valentine supplied. “Claimed that he could turn ‘em docile. Strong here was apparently the only successful case of that. Really took a shining to something called ‘the milk of human kindness’.”

Codsworth perked up. “Ah, from MacBeth!”

Mr. Valentine nodded shrewdly. “Yeah, but you see, super mutants don’t understand the concept of a metaphor. Strong is searching for what he believes to be an actual ‘milk of human kindness’,” Mr. Valentine made quotation marks as he spoke. “Thinks it’ll make him stronger than all the other super mutants like him.”

“And so he followed us, and now he’s here. And we’ve got to decide what to do with him,” Nora finished, her face fighting between amusement and concern. Two pairs of eyes and three optical receptors fell back on the super mutant.

“Would it be possible to send him on his way back to...erm...his people?” Codsworth suggested.

“I’m not sure,” Mr. Valentine said. “We found him in a cage, thrown in there by his people. Guess it begs the question if super mutants hate other super mutants if their own kind become too smart for their own good.”

Nora quirked an eyebrow. “Has anything like that actually happened around here?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

Codsworth thought for a moment. “Surely a super mutant would be happier with his own kind…?” he thought aloud. 

Almost immediately, Nora pulled a face. “Fist and the others would have killed him! It’s only thanks to us that he’s here now,” she exclaimed, motioning to Strong. “He can’t just go back; either he’ll get killed, or Strong’ll try to kill everyone else first.”

Codsworth winced at her harsh tone. “But Mum, can you be certain that the super mutants at Trinity Tower  _ would  _ have killed Mr. Strong without yours and Mr. Valentine’s interjection?”

Nora opened her mouth to say something more but nothing came out. In the meantime, Mr. Valentine was studying her with increased scrutiny. “Nora,” Mr. Valentine said, exasperated, “you just can’t keep a super mutant around a settlement and treat him like he’s a tato farmer. It’ll never work”

“To hell if I can’t,” Nora sniped. “What, you want me to just chase him off? He’ll keep coming back, Nick.”

“He’s a super mutant, kid. You can’t just expect a super mutant to hang around a settlement full of people and not get a desire to start smashing skulls.” Mr. Valentine said.

As if on cue, Strong tossed one of the glass beakers over his shoulder. It went a ways over the hill, and Codsworth heard the sound of it smashing into a million pieces on the rocks below. “Strong bored,” he announced.

Nora, ignoring Strong’s outbursts, continued to argue, her face getting red. “He was a person once too, Nick!”, she snapped.

It appeared that Nora struck a nerve with that last barb, because Mr. Valentine’s lips pursed tightly together. Codsworth watched as Nora’s face suddenly fell, perhaps realizing that she had gone a step too far, and she crossed her arms and averted her eyes. Strong the super mutant, unperturbed by the people arguing about his presence, suddenly growled out “Strong hungry,” and picked up his pipe rifle before wandering off down the slopes.

In the ensuing silence, Codsworth butted in between Nora and Mr. Valentine. “If I may,” he interjected. “Why doesn’t Master Strong just stay here?”

More silence greeted his words. Nora stared at him for a moment before the weight of what he said hit her, but Mr. Valentine was stroking his chin thoughtfully. They both exchanged a glance between each other. In the distance, Codsworth could hear the rattling of a firing rifle and Strong’s shouts of triumph.

Mr. Valentine broke the silence first. “That’s actually not a bad idea,” he mused, sounding like a laugh was trying to escape from his lips.

Nora’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean you actually  _ agree  _ with him?” she asked.

“I’m not necessarily saying that a super mutant is going to make for the best kind of neighbor,” Mr. Valentine clarified, “but he’ll certainly make a hell of guard dog.” 

They all considered that for a moment. As they did so, Strong came back over the hills to the Red Rocket, two dead mole rats draped over either shoulder. He threw his rifle on the ground, grabbed both of the mutated carcasses by the neck, and tossed them haphazardly against the wall. The bodies hit the brick one after the other and flopped uselessly on the ground. Unbothered, Strong returned his attention to the chemistry stand before him and picked up the bunsen burner again.

“He definitely would make a raider think twice about coming any further down the road,” Nora agreed. “Honestly, I think he’d make  _ anyone  _ think twice about coming up the road. We outta make a sign: ‘Beware of super mutant’. That’ll sure be a fun thing for Trashcan Carla to come back to.”

“Do you think Master Strong would ignore Mr. Garvey and the others?” Codsworth asked.

Nora and Mr. Valentine exchanged another look before she shrugged. “He might be able to learn who’s a friend and who’s not,” she sounded unsure, then wryly smiled, “Or I guess I could just tell Preston to talk about the milk of human kindness as loudly as possible whenever we make it past here. Who knows? Maybe that’ll be enough to sate him.”

Mr. Valentine sighed, producing a carton of cigarettes from inside his jacket and pulling a fresh cigarette. Codsworth helpfully held up his flamethrower, to which Mr. Valentine shook his head and took out a lighter. “Glad you’re seeing the humor in this, kid,” he said between puffs, “because I’m sure finding it hard to. You are playing with a very dangerous fire here.”

“When have you ever known me to make a smart decision?” Nora chirped back.

Mr. Valentine smiled, shaking his head, and didn’t retaliate. “I can’t think of an example,” he said, grinning around the cigarette. “I’m sure pre-war Nora O’Hare was a brilliant, upstanding citizen in her own right.”

“Hah, hardly,” Nora scoffed. “Pre-war Nora O’Hare was just happy to pass the bar.” Unprompted, a look passed over her eyes. It was so quick that Codsworth was certain he imagined it until she said, half to herself, “Some good that did,” and crossed her arms, laughing sadly.

“I hate to break you two apart,” came Mr. Valentine’s voice over their shoulders, “but the problem at hand…” Mr. Valentine was quickly breezing through his second cigarette, the tip flickering in and out with every puff.

Nodding, Nora spun on heel and approached Strong, who had picked up one of the mole rats and had torn off a hind leg. She paused for a moment, quite possibly thrown off by the super mutant’s brutality, but she soldiered on nevertheless. Codsworth, meanwhile, had retreated back to the detective to watch the scene unfold.

“I assume it’s safe to say that Master Strong would not be sated should we produce a bottle of Brahmin milk and merely claim it to be this ‘milk of human kindness’?” Codsworth asked Mr. Valentine.

The detective chuckled around his cigarette. “You and I seem to be of alike minds, Codsworth, but let’s also be serious here. Do you think Nora would find any fun in that?”

No, she wouldn’t.

Codsworth was snapped from his thoughts as Strong suddenly bellowed, “Human lady promised Strong milk of human kindness!”

Strong was surprisingly expressive for a super mutant, looking positively enraged as Nora held up her hands in defeat and took two steps backwards. Her right hand slowly drifted to the 10mm pistol strapped to her thigh but she didn’t draw it. That was most impressive to Codsworth, who, if throw into the same exact situation, would most likely have given a few spurts of the flamethrower by now.

“Easy, Strong, easy,” Nora soothed. “We can go and look for the milk of human kindness in a little while, I promise. But for now, Nick and I need to do things here. You can stay in the Red Rocket while I’m gone. Is that okay?”

Strong sniffed and took a bite from his mole rat leg. Blood dripped down his chin and even from this distance, Codsworth could hear the distinctive, brittle snap of bones breaking. “Strong want to look for milk of human kindness,” he repeated stubbornly.

“And Strong can look for the milk of human kindness while I’m gone if he wants to. But you have to understand that this,” she motioned to the general area of the ruined gas station, “is going to be your home. Do you understand, Strong? No more living with super mutants. They’re...um...not nice to me, right? And we need to find the milk of human kindness together, so this is how it’s going to be.”

Amazingly, Strong harrumphed but didn’t contest with Nora’s words. Codsworth and Mr. Valentine exchanged a look.   
“And Strong,” Nora continued. “There’s a group of people that live across the river. They’re nice, but if you stomping around over there, you’re going to scare everyone. They’ll leave you alone if you leave them alone, alright? So that means no eating people. Hell, I don’t even want you talking about eating people. Understand me?”

The super mutant suddenly straightened himself, a cross look spreading to his mutated features. As Nora took another step back, Mr. Valentine took a step forward, his hand going for the inside of his trenchcoat.

Nora held her ground, however. “No, Strong!” she shouted, “If you don’t tell me that you understand, I’m not going to help you find the milk of human kindness. Is that understood?”

It was impressive, hearing her talk like that, because she sounded like she was scolding a misbehaving child rather than a massive behemoth. Codsworth would have laughed were he not so worried for her. Slowly, Strong backed down, though his furious expression remained fixed on his face. “Strong understand,” he grumbled. 

“Good, good,” Nora said, sounding relieved, “Why don’t you go and explore while I tell everyone you’re staying here now?”

Strong grunted but didn’t wander off. Instead, he returned to his mole rat meal and ripped off another leg. Nora remained for a moment longer as if she wanted to protest, but thought better of it and turned back around to Codsworth and Mr. Valentine. The detective's cigarette had long since gone out in the commotion, Mr. Valentine having apparently forgotten about it.

Smiling broadly, Nora turned around and marched back to Mr. Valentine and Codsworth. She wore a look that screamed smugness and her hands went straight to her hips. For the first time since he’d seen her come running down from the Vault, Nora looked strikingly like her old self: self-assured, stubborn, and confidant. A woman that hid her fears behind a curtain, just like she used to around everyone she met. And now here she was, putting that curtain back up after all this time. Codsworth wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing yet, but it was another familiar gesture, and that was good enough for him.

The way she moved was even different. Despite the pack on her shoulders and the heavy clothes she wore, she still managed to  _ strut _ back over to them. How she carried herself was like her own version of her victory lap. “Well, I guess I can add 'super mutant negotiator' to my growing list of talents.” she greeted them, beaming with pride, “We should tell Preston, then. We'll have to move that old set of power armor before Strong decides to turn it into a scrap pile.”

Valentine’s chuckle snapped them both from their trance. He pulled out his lighter again and reignited his cigarette. “That would probably good, kid.”

With that, Valentine turned around and headed across the parking lot. He beckoned them with a wave of his hand but neither Codsworth nor Nora moved. Instead, Codsworth floated over to her. He didn’t say anything--he really never had to say anything to her--and she looked up at him and gave a weary smile. Nora’s hand went up to his body, pausing for a quick second as she caught her reflection in his metal shine, but she placed it right on his face again. 

“Thanks, Codsworth,” she said, sounding distant behind that smile, “You’ve been a big help.”

“Happy to serve, Mum.”

Nora and Codsworth broke apart to follow Mr. Valentine. From the corner of his optical receptor, he saw Nora’s fingers brush against the scar over her eyebrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please send some kudos, bookmarks, and reviews if you enjoyed!


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